I got used to transferring from my bed to my wheelchair and back again, though it was nowhere near as easy as you’d think, and if I didn’t concentrate hard I misjudged it and nearly toppled over. I did fall once and there was a great to-do. I had to be checked all over to make sure I hadn’t broken anything, which seemed so stupid seeing as I’d already broken my back.
I even got used to the hospital food, although it was pretty disgusting and the smell of it lurked in the corridors for hours after it was served. They’d show me the menu every day and I’d think, great, macaroni cheese or fish pie, two of my favourites. But when they were dished up the macaroni would be disconcertingly pale with no crispy bits of cheese, and the pasta was so rubbery I’d chew until my jaws ached. The fish pie was even worse, the potato grey and lumpy and hard on top, and the fish so slimy it made me shudder when I swallowed.
I thought longingly of Izzie’s macaroni cheese, golden and delicious, and her wonderful fish pie, the potato creamy and fluffy, the fish white and juicy, the little pink prawns tender and succulent.
I went through phases of not ordering hot meals, just asking for salads and sandwiches, although they weren’t great either. I got so fed up of damp pink ham or bland tinned tuna that I only picked at them. The dietitian nagged at me, lecturing me about needing protein for my muscles. They even brought some sort of psych-person to ‘have a chat’ with me. They were clearly worrying about anorexia again, because she kept asking me if I had a voice in my head telling me I was fat. The voice in my head would have had to be totally loony, because I wasn’t fat: I was thin as a pin. I didn’t want to be thin because it made me look gawkier than ever. I just looked like a collapsed giraffe rather than one standing up or striding.
Jasmine was cleverer than any psychiatrist. She got me helping little Marnie to eat her meals. I don’t know if Marnie had been dead picky with her food before her car accident, but she was hopeless now, pressing her lips together and turning her head away when you aimed a spoon at her mouth.
‘You’re a clever clogs, Katy, and so good with the little ones. I suppose it comes naturally, you being the eldest at home. See if you can do a Mary Poppins on Marnie. Otherwise we’ll have to feed her through a tube – and you know she’ll hate that,’ said Jasmine.
‘OK, I’ll give it a go,’ I said, proud that she’d asked me.
So I’d sit with Marnie, our meals in front of us, and I’d make up stories. We had to climb all the way up mash mountain; we had to spear the naughty sausage; we had to count the little green pea beads. Every time I took a bite, Marnie did too. I’d carry on making up this daft kind of fairy story while Marnie and I chewed and swallowed. By the end of the story both our plates were empty.
I also tried swapping to Naveen’s special halal food, which was a lot tastier than bland British hospital cuisine, and that was fun for a while too. I became quite friendly with Naveen. She still cried every single day, but when she cheered up she had a wicked sense of humour, almost rivalling Dexter’s. We’d whisper funny things about the nurses and the doctors and the dietitian. We were particularly rude about the physios, because they mauled us about so much and kept nag, nag, nagging. We knew they were just trying to help us achieve as much mobility as possible. We hated them all the same because they made us carry on our stupid exercises until we were exhausted, our hearts banging in our chests, our hair straggly with sweat.
Naveen had the most wonderful hair, which she wore in a very long black plait down her back. I got her to do mine like that, but my own hair was so thin and wispy I ended up with a mouse’s tail, while Naveen’s was a thick glossy rope. I loved Naveen’s bangles too, which clanked on each arm. We weren’t supposed to wear jewellery in hospital but Naveen said her gold bangles were part of her religion so she was allowed to keep them. She winked at me later and told me she was fibbing, which made me laugh.
So I was friends with Naveen now, friends with Marnie – and I even made friends with little Rosemary. I felt so guilty that I’d disliked her simply because she was so good and patient. I hadn’t ever been nasty to her face, but I’d mocked her to Dexter. Now I’d calmed down and wasn’t quite so angry all the time, I felt horribly mean. Rosemary wasn’t a little prig. She wasn’t even being good to get her own way and make all the nursing staff adore her. She was just a sweet, happy little girl, even now, when she was trapped in a body that wouldn’t work.
I watched her at physio, her tiny tan face flushing with exertion as they pushed and pulled her. I saw her shrieking with laughter as they splashed her in the little pool. I loved seeing her nuzzling her head against her mum and dad when they came to visit. I heard her sometimes in the middle of the night, muttering away to herself.
One time I managed to do a bold transfer on to the wheelchair beside my bed, even though this was strictly forbidden at night-time, and wheeled myself over to her.
‘Rosemary?’ I whispered.
She lay quiet, practically holding her breath.
‘Rosemary, I know you’re awake; I heard you!’
‘Are you cross?’ she whispered back.
‘No, silly! Just curious. What was all that muttering?’
‘I was just telling myself a story,’ Rosemary said.
‘Oh, bless! Look, would you like me to tell you a story?’ I offered.
She seemed willing, so I started off on another Marnie-type fairy story. Rosemary loved this, chuckling softly to herself. After ten minutes or so her breathing got slower and steadier and I realized I’d lulled her to sleep. I felt so touched I blew her a little kiss and then wheeled myself back to my own bed as silently as possible.
I got stuck trying to transfer back again, which was nowhere near as easy, and Jeannie came along and whispered at me furiously as she heaved me back into bed – but it was worth it. I often told Rosemary special stories after that. When I ran out of ideas for my own stories I told her variations of ‘Goldilocks’ and ‘Cinderella’ and ‘The Sleeping Beauty’ and she loved them all.
I was friends with all the girls in my unit – and friends with Dexter too. I felt much closer to them now than to Cecy, though she visited several times and wrote me emails when Dad brought his own laptop in for me to use. I was still close to Clover of course, but I couldn’t help feeling upset and left out when she told me all the different things she’d been doing with Elsie and the littlies. She seemed weirdly close to Elsie now, starting half her sentences with ‘Elsie-and-I’. Clover had always agreed with me in the past that Elsie was a pathetic little wimp who’d tell tales to Izzie if you so much as breathed on her, but now she acted like she was her best friend.
I decided to sort that out straight away the minute I got home. I didn’t know when that would be. Naveen had only been in hospital a week longer than me, but Rosemary and Marnie had been there for months. No one would give me a precise answer. It was always, ‘It will depend on your progress,’ a pretty useless response.
I longed and longed and longed to go home. It was like a strange, magical land I’d made up long ago. I couldn’t imagine myself back there. Sometimes I couldn’t even remember the exact details of my bedroom or the bathroom or the library downstairs. They all seemed fuzzy in my mind’s eye, as if I was squinting at them through narrowed eyelids. It was hard imagining all the children rattling around inside the house, leading their lives without me.
I remembered that it was still the summer holidays. I felt sure they’d all be going crazy with boredom, because Clover wasn’t very good at inventing new games, and Elsie worse than useless.
‘Do you remember it’s our holiday this Saturday?’ Dad said one afternoon while he was visiting.
I didn’t understand immediately. ‘It’s been the holidays for weeks, hasn’t it?’ I said.
‘No, I mean when we go on holiday to Nefyn, to the cottage,’ said Dad.
‘Oh!’ I said. So was I getting out of hospital at last? I imagined myself there, running along the sandy beach, clambering over the rocks, squealing in th
e icy sea … Then I hit both my legs hard with my clenched fists.
‘Hey, don’t do that! You’ll bruise yourself,’ said Dad.
‘I don’t care. I can’t feel it, can I?’ I said sulkily.
‘You have to be extremely careful with paralysed legs. You know that,’ said Dad.
‘All right, I do know. Look, Dad, I can’t wait to go on holiday, but won’t it be difficult getting me to the beach? Will I be able to wheel myself along the cliff path? And can you push a wheelchair over sand? And once I’m on the beach I’ll have to sit there like a pudding while all the others run about and play games,’ I said.
Dad was looking at me as if I were totally deluded.
‘Darling, it’s simply not possible. Not just now, anyway. Maybe next year. Besides, you have to stay in hospital a few weeks more to build up your upper body and improve your transferring skills and learn to manage your bladder.’
‘Dad!’ I hated it when he said matter-of-fact doctor things, especially about anything personal.
‘You do understand, don’t you, Katy? I thought about cancelling the cottage altogether, but the children have had such a rough time. They really need a holiday. They’ve been so worried about you,’ Dad went on.
I could hardly take it in. So were they all trooping off to the cottage without me? I had to stay in hospital, while they all went off to have a fun holiday together?
‘Katy? I know it sounds so heartless – but you don’t want to deprive them of their holiday just because you can’t go, do you?’ Dad asked.
I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak. I didn’t want to deprive them exactly. I suppose I wanted them all to say they couldn’t possibly go because it wouldn’t be any fun without me.
‘Don’t worry, love. You’re not going to be left all alone,’ Dad said, misunderstanding. ‘I won’t be going. I’ll be coming to visit you every day, just as I always do.’
This was comforting, but only to a degree.
‘Clover?’ I mumbled. ‘Is she going too?’
In the old days Clover wouldn’t go anywhere without me. Cecy might have gone all weird around me, but thank goodness Clover was still the same, hugging me as if she’d never let me go whenever she came on a visit.
‘Oh, you know how Clover adores you. She said she couldn’t go, not if you weren’t able to come too,’ said Dad. ‘I told her that was nonsense. She has to go. She can’t stay home all by herself while I’m out at the surgery. Of course she’s going to Nefyn too. She says she’ll hate it this time, bless her, but I think when she gets there she’ll perk up and enjoy herself.’
I didn’t want her to enjoy herself, not without me. But that was such a selfish thought I blushed, even though I hadn’t said it out loud. I was learning that if I said what I really thought people were shocked and hurt. It was so unfair. Now I was stuck in a wheelchair I was somehow supposed to turn into an unselfish little saint.
I did try to be happy for everyone going off on their holiday, but it was a real struggle when they came to see me on Friday. Philly was actually carrying his plastic bucket and spade to show me.
‘Look, look, Katy! I’m going to do digging at the beach and make heaps and heaps of castles,’ he said proudly, banging me on the knees with both the bucket and the spade for emphasis.
‘Don’t, Philly! Watch Katy’s poor legs!’ Izzie hissed, though of course I hadn’t felt a thing.
‘We’re going to make castles too and we’re going to swim in the sea,’ said Jonnie. ‘I can swim a whole length of the swimming pool now, Katy, did you know? I can swim heaps better than Dorry. He can’t even do a width.’
‘I think swimming’s boring,’ said Dorry. ‘I’m going to have an ice-cream cone every day when we’re on holiday. No, I’m going to have an ice cream every morning and another every afternoon and another before I go to bed.’
‘You’re so greedy, Dorry. Mum says you’re just a walking stomach,’ said Elsie. ‘Clover and me are going to collect shells, lots and lots of pretty shells, and then we’re going to –’
‘Shh, Elsie, it’s a secret!’ said Clover.
What? I couldn’t bear them having secrets together.
‘We wish, wish, wish you could come too, Katy,’ Clover said quickly. ‘It won’t be the same without you.’
‘I wish I was coming too,’ I said, sounding sour.
I forced myself to smile and give them all a hug and a kiss, even Elsie. I said I hoped they’d all have a lovely holiday. But the minute they’d gone I started howling. I wanted to lie on my front and pull the covers over my head but I didn’t have the strength to drag my body round. I just lay miserably on my back with the tears dripping down the sides of my face into my ears.
Naveen and Marnie and Rosemary were all busy with their visitors so they didn’t notice. I tried very hard not to make any obvious snorty sobbing noises. I didn’t have a tissue handy. I was getting into a horrible soggy state but I didn’t care.
‘Hey, is it raining in here? You’re soaked!’ It was Dexter. He’d wheeled himself in so silently I hadn’t even heard him approach my bed.
‘Oh God. Go away. I look a mess,’ I said, trying to hide under the sheets.
‘I’ll say,’ said Dexter. He pulled a few tissues out of the box on my locker. ‘Here. Or use the sheet, whatever.’
I wiped my face as best I could and blew my nose several times.
‘Better?’
I emerged from the sheet, scarlet with embarrassment.
‘Don’t fret,’ said Dexter. ‘Why wouldn’t anyone cry in the circumstances? And visiting times are often the worst, aren’t they? You look forward to seeing them so much and then it all goes wrong.’
‘Well, it’s all gone horribly wrong for me, because my lot are all skipping off to the seaside on holiday, leaving me stuck here. Can you imagine?’ I said, still snuffling. I didn’t add that Dad was giving up his holiday to stay visiting me, as that would have spoilt the effect of my statement.
‘Oh, I can imagine all too well. Something we’ll have to get used to. Our families go on holiday. We stay Home Alone. Hmm, that’s a thought … How are we going to cope with burglars in a wheelchair?’ Dexter drew himself rapidly, a little cowering creature being threatened by great towering men with striped jerseys and bags marked SWAG.
‘Draw me too,’ I said.
‘No, you won’t even be allowed the freedom of the house because you’re only a kid. They’ll put you in the cupboard under the stairs. It’s OK – they’ll poke in a couple of cornflake packets and some long-life milk to keep you going for the holidays.’
‘My dad wouldn’t do that,’ I said.
‘OK. Then he’d hire you a special nanny for the duration.’
‘Like Mary Poppins?’
‘As if. More like Miss Trunchbull.’ He drew her with relish, a massive, muscly, boot-faced creature whirling me about her head while still strapped into my wheelchair. Dexter was obviously expecting me to laugh but I felt like wallowing gloomily for a while.
‘Aren’t you ever going to cheer up?’ Dexter asked. ‘Where was this wondrous seaside? Barbados? The Seychelles? Mauritius?’
‘Nefyn in North Wales,’ I said.
Dexter burst out laughing. ‘Oh, a real sun-soaked glamour spot!’ he said. ‘Come on, you can do better than that. With several flicks of my magic pencil I can transport you on far more interesting holiday jaunts. Where would you like to go if you could choose anywhere?’
I thought hard. We’d only ever been to Nefyn.
‘Disneyland!’ I said. Half the kids in my class had been to the Disney resort in Florida, or at least to Disneyland Paris on a weekend trip. I’d always wanted to go, but Dad winced at the very idea.
‘Disneyland!’ said Dexter, wrinkling his nose. ‘How old are you? Six? Seven? Does diddums want to see Mickey Mouse and all the pwetty lickle pwincesses?’
‘You shut up. I bet you’ve been to Disneyland. You seem like the sort of kid who was spoilt rotten when you
were little,’ I said sharply.
‘Try to be a tad more original, girl.’
I thought hard. ‘I know, I know! I don’t know the right place, but I’d love to swim with dolphins!’ I said.
‘Boring,’ said Dexter, but he drew me being pulled along on a smiley dolphin’s back, a lovely picture that made me sigh wistfully.
‘You’d like to swim with dolphins too, I bet you,’ I said.
‘Maybe. Tell you the animal holiday I’d like. I’d like to go trekking in Borneo to see some of the wild orang-utans. That would be incredible.’
‘Draw it. Go on!’ I commanded.
So he drew himself small again, in an ultra-cool wheelchair of his own design like a mini four-by-four. He’d just come across a mother orang-utan with a baby in her arms. He drew the baby half bald, with wonderful sticking-up wisps of hair on his little head.
‘Oh, he’s so sweet!’ I said. ‘So where’s the dad? I know – he’s huge, absolutely huge, and he’s striding through the jungle to see who’s talking to his wife and he doesn’t look very happy. Draw him. Go on, Dexter.’
So he drew a King Kong-size orang-utan with his vast head showing way above all the tallest trees. He had one huge hairy arm raised triumphantly, something small and wriggly clasped in his gigantic paw.
‘What’s that in his hand? A big spider?’
‘No, silly. Look closer.’
I peered at the picture. It was a miniature woman in nurse’s uniform. Even though she was tiny she had a very big bottom.
We both rocked with laughter, especially when Jeannie poked her head in the room to see who was being so rowdy.
‘What are you doing on the girls’ ward, Dexter? You get straight back to the boys’ ward, do you hear me?’ she said crossly.
‘It’s visiting time so I’m visiting Katy,’ Dexter said.
‘You two! You think you can change all the rules to suit yourselves,’ said Jeannie, but she let him stay.
We played the Holiday game most days. I sometimes drew the pictures, though I was nowhere near as good at it as Dexter. I thought he’d tease me for my wobbly lines and lopsided figures, but he was surprisingly encouraging because he liked some of my wild ideas.